


A Circle in the Sand

by misaffection



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-25
Updated: 2013-02-26
Packaged: 2017-12-03 14:33:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 5,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/699295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misaffection/pseuds/misaffection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old case comes back to haunt Camille, with devastating repercussions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Make a circle in the sand.  
Make a halo with your hand.  
I'll make a place for you to land.  
~ "Miami", Counting Crows

Richard Poole sat at his desk and pretended to read over the notes of the case he closed the previous day. Pretending, because what he was actually doing was watching the mock argument between Fidel and Camille. He’d lost the thread about five minutes ago – Camille kept dropping into French – but it started about her looking girly this morning.

His gaze swept down. Her red pants ended mid-shin and clung to the curve of her hips. Not that he’d noticed in particular, but a good detective should have an eye for detail. The sleeveless blouse had cherries on it and, with her hair worn thus… Fidel had a point and she did look, well, feminine. Not that she didn’t usually, but a little more so today.

Camille stopped mid-sentence. She looked at over at him, one eyebrow arching. Effecting annoyance he didn’t feel, he glared back. “Finished now, have we?”

Her eyes narrowed, but the appearance of the commission at the door pulled up whatever retort she’d planned. His commanding officer seemed more agitated than Richard had seen him, which on Saint-Marie was never a good sign, and he sat straighter.

“Sir?”

“I’ve just had some rather disturbing news,” the man said. “Denny Carrillo skipped bail and is reportedly back on the island.”

“Are you sure, sir?” Camille asked.

Richard glanced at her, then looked back at the expression on her face. “Who’s Denny Carrillo?”

“Petty criminal turned drug pusher.” Her tone was hard, icy. “Mentally unstable and a risk to the public, if he is here.”

“He shot Camille,” Dwayne put in. she rolled her eyes.

“I think we’ve established that Mr Carrillo is not someone we want wandering around,” the commission said. “Get him found and get him off my island.”

Richard pulled his gaze off Camille and nodded. “Of course, sir.”

He watched the man leave and then got up. Things had been quiet for a while and the white board was… well, white. He picked up the pen and wrote the suspect’s name at the top. Other than the news Carrillo had shot Camille, he knew nothing.

“I assume there’s a file?”

Fidel was already in the filing cabinet. After a moment, he pulled out a manila and handed it over. “He’s got quite a rap sheet, sir. Started with taking handbags and stealing from tourists, quickly worked up to aggravated assault and battery.”

“And shooting a police officer.” Richard looked at Camille as she drew level. The fury had gone, or been well buried, and she returned his gaze calmly.

“It was just a nick. His lawyer claimed he’d panicked and the gun had gone off accidentally.”

He snorted. “As they do.”

“It was dropped in favour for the bigger charge of drug running. I didn’t have a problem with that until now. He shouldn’t have been given bail.”

Richard took the mug shot out of the folder and pinned it to the board, giving himself a brief moment to collect his thoughts. He’d known about the shooting – he’d read his team’s files, after all – but having a face to the name made it different. Made it real.

“You were the arresting officer?” It wasn’t really a question.

“Yes.” The chill was back in her voice. “I can handle this, Richard,” she added.

He glanced at Dwayne and Fidel, who appeared to be busy pretending not to listen. Much as he had before. He motioned her to follow him and went outside. She leant against the wall, arms folded and expression mulish. Richard closed the door.

“I don’t doubt your ability as an officer, Camille. What concerns me is why Carrillo has come back here of all places. Especially since you yourself said he was mentally unstable.”

Some of the anger leeched from her. “Do you think he wants revenge?”

“I’m not about to rule it out.” He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets, feeling awkward. She was a good officer and he hated this. “And I can’t take the risk that he doesn’t.”

She shook her head. “Richard, please…”

“I don’t have a choice. You know that.”

“I know him better than the rest of you! You need me on this one.”

God, but she was beautiful when she was angry. It just pained him to be the cause of it. “I need you alive and in one piece,” he replied softly. Taking a breath, he faced her square on and finished it. “You’re off the case.”

She opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. Her eyes were hard and the glare furious. She stalked off without another word. Richard pinched the bridge of his nose and fought the temptation to run after her. He couldn’t apologise enough. Not when he wasn’t going to back down. Better that she be angry at him than dead.

He blew out a breath and went inside. The other men watched him, the knowledge of what had happened clear on their faces.

“Problem?” he asked, feeling outnumbered and out of sorts.

“No, sir,” Fidel replied. Dwayne shook his head. “It was the right thing, but we need to get him if you’re that sure. She won’t be safe until he’s back behind bars.”

“The commissioner won’t put a detail on her without proof Carrillo is going after her,” Richard said, loathing the fact. “So we move now. Speak to everyone involved in the last case and find out if he is here and where. Let’s not give him a single chance.”

“No, sir!”

Richard turned to the board. Denny Carrillo was a sullen looking man of mixed heritage with long dark hair and the cold eyes of a killer. _Accidental shooting my foot._ He’d meant it, Richard was sure of it. He’d just not meant to leave her alive. And now he’d come back to finish the job.

“Not her,” he murmured. “Not on my watch.”


	2. Chapter 2

The cup shattered on impact, the noise startling Camille out of her black mood. She stared at the mess, sighed, and then picked up a cloth. She understood Richard’s decision. That didn’t mean she had to be happy with it.

At least he’d not quizzed her too much on what had happened. She’d spent a long time pushing it all to the back of her mind. She didn’t want to talk about it. Specifically, she didn’t want to talk to him about it.

She swept up the broken pieces of her cup and pitched them into the bin. The frustration still boiled inside her, along with a sliver of fear. Carrillo back was something she’d never thought possible. Her worst nightmare.

Maybe he was back for revenge, maybe he wasn’t. He’d had several businesses on Saint-Marie, none of them legal, but all fairly lucrative. So what if his back accounts were frozen? A man like Carrillo would have money stashed away. And she knew several likely spots.

Of course, several of those would be listed in his file and Richard wasn’t stupid. He’d have those sites checked first thing, along with every person mentioned questioned. Sooner or later, he’d be here asking her things she didn’t want to answer. She didn’t want him to know how badly she’d underestimated Carrillo. She needed to fix this, whether Richard wanted her on the team or not.

Leaving the kitchen, Camille headed into her bedroom and got changed; swapping the bright colours for more circumspect ones. She tied her hair back, put on her trainers and then grabbed her gun. He should have taken that off her. She knew why he hadn’t, and his protectiveness brought a lump to her throat. He was a good man, despite all his faults.

It wasn’t defying orders. Not really. Or so she told herself as she turned the Land Rover’s engine over. She selected first gear and put her foot down. Dust kicked up behind her as she headed north and towards the shack hidden in the jungle.

The road was rough, but she was used to navigating the island. She slowed well before the clearing, then pulled over. The engine died and she slid out. She closed the door softly and then stood, just listening. Nothing but bird sound. Threading her way through the trees, she crept up on the shack.  
There was no sign of life. She put her gun away and headed to the porch.

“Ah-hem.”

Merde. Her nose wrinkled at the voice behind her. Sagging in defeat, she turned to face him. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Richard looked unimpressed. “So there’s another reason you’re creeping about one of Carrillo’s hideouts other than defying orders? Oh please, this I’d love to hear.”

Blast the man. “How did you even know about this place? It’s not in the file.”

“No, but it’s in your report.”

She glared at him. “I didn’t file that. You’ve been through my drawers?”

“You kept back evidence.”

Yes, she had, and with good reason. “There was no evidence here that would have furthered the investigation.” She saw him frown and swore. “Dammit, Richard, you know me. You know that’s not how this is.”

“This is where he shot you.”

God, how could she have forgotten how brilliant he was? He’d probably just come out of curiosity. Her arrival would have confirmed any suspicions he might have had. Unable to deny the truth, Camille sank to the step.

“I should have asked for back-up, but I wanted the collar. I thought he’d be so high, it would be easy. Except he was on a bad trip and… I miscalculated.” She shook her head, then looked up. Richard hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed expression. Waiting for the rest. She got the feeling he already knew it. “It wasn’t that bad. I managed to track him back and that’s when all hell broke loose. It was easy, really.”

“You lied.”

She swallowed hard. “I know.”

“His account backed up your story.”

Of course it did. “He was high on drugs. He’d have believed anything he was told.”

Richard’s expression went tight. “Camille…”

“I’m sorry. I should have told you before, but I couldn’t. It was bad enough to be forced off the case, to have you look at me exactly as you are now…”

His disappointment cut her. Vision blurring, she stared at the grass between her feet. “I’m so sorry.”

“Who else knows?”

She thought about it. “I think Dwayne might, or at least be suspicious. But Carrillo was going to jail for drug smuggling, not shooting a police officer. My testimony wasn’t even needed.”

Richard sighed. “That’s why you let it go.”

“Yes.” There wasn’t more she could say. Except… “Can you?”

“There’s a dangerous criminal on the island who may or may not want to kill one of my officers. What do you think my concerns are right now, Camille?”

She lifted her gaze. “And afterwards?”

“I think we need a long talk.”

All she could do was nod. He wasn’t as angry as she’d expected. Just disappointed in her. That was bad enough. She got to her feet and trudged over, ashamed and miserable. She dug out her badge and held it out.

“Put that away.”

“But–”

His hands cupped her fingers, folded them over the badge. He held on a moment longer, enough for the touch to increase the beat of her heart, then let go. She looked at him and he offered her that wry half smile.

“I’m assuming there’s nothing else you should be telling me?”

“No.” Not about the case. “I swear there’s not.”

“Then go home, Camille. Let me sort this out.”

“Yes, sir.”

She walked until she reached the cover of the trees, then fled to the Land Rover before the tears started. Why the hell hadn’t she trusted him with the truth? Why had she made him find out like this? She had to have wrecked things between them now.


	3. Chapter 3

Speaking to the previous witnesses has not revealed as much as Richard would like. He folded his arms and stared at the white board. Ever indication was that Carrillo had returned to the island, but no one seemed to know why. Or where he was. Richard didn’t like not knowing, not one little bit.

Footsteps on the porch drew his attention. He watched Dwayne and Fidel trudge in, dirty and empty-handed. The older man shook his head.

“It’s like he’s just disappeared. I don’t like it.”

“He’s here. Someone has to know where.” Richard glanced at the clock. Of all the days for the hours not to drag. “We’re running out of time.”

“We’re not going anywhere until he’s behind bars, sir,” Fidel put in. “Not with Camille’s life at risk.”

As if he needed reminding about that. The lack of detail on her house made him uncomfortable, but his request had exactly the answer he’d feared – there wasn’t enough evidence to warrant pulling men off the manhunt.

“Thank you,” he said, not bothering to hide his relief. Not that he’s surprised – Camille is important to all of them. “So does anyone have any idea where we look now? Because I’ve got nothing.”

He didn’t like admitting that, but he wasn’t about to let his pride get in the way of stopping Carrillo. But looking at their faces, it was obvious neither had much of an idea. He turned back to the board. There had to be something, some clue as to what Carrillo was doing.

Each “business” was pictured, with related crimes and contacts listed underneath. Down the right-hand side of the board was a timeline, though he knew it wasn’t entirely correct. He took step sideways. Stared at it, rewriting the latter part in his mind. If it took the truth into consideration, there was an hour unaccounted for.

Where had Carrillo gone in the meantime? No trace of his money had been found. Camille had said the man had been high. Apparently what a crazy man high on drugs did after shooting a police officer was to move his money. But where to?

Richard took a step backwards so he could see the whole board. The big picture. He’d a feeling he was missing a piece, or at least overlooking it. But other than the hideout, he had every option covered. And none of the leads had led to Carrillo. It didn’t make sense.

Except he couldn’t expect it to make sense, could he? Oh, he was an idiot – he knew Carrillo wasn’t quite right in the head, so why think the man was thinking at all? And maybe it wasn’t about what had happened then, but since he’d come back to the island.

His gaze went back to the timeline. The hour between Camille getting shot and Carrillo’s arrest wasn’t the only time missing – while Camille had been at the hideout, her house had been unattended. It came together in a rush that stole his breath. Forbidding sank through his stomach like a cold stone.

“Dwayne, Fidel.” They looked up, going on the alert when they saw his face. “Get your guns. I know where he’s going and if we’ve very, very lucky, he’s not there yet.”

“Camille,” Dwayne muttered, then swore. “We should have kept her with us.”

Hindsight was always twenty-twenty and he’d no time to debate the ifs and buts. He grabbed his jacket and headed for the door, leaving the other men to scramble after him.

It was too hot to run, plus he didn’t know what they were getting into. Charging in wasn’t going to help Camille, so Richard settled for a steady trot in the direction of her house. Dwayne and Fidel were on his heels. None of them spoke.

The street was empty, though the setting sun threw long shadows that could have hidden umpteen dangerously unhinged criminals. Lifting a hand to alert his colleagues, he slowed down and scanned the area.

“Should we ring her?” Fidel asked in a stage whisper.

Richard shook his head. “I’d rather not alert Carrillo if he’s inside.”

“Then what do we do sir?”

He frowned at the house. What indeed? If he only knew where Carrillo was, where Camille was… The door opened. Camille was on her phone. She looked relaxed, as if she’d not a care in the world. Richard blew out a breath.

“Dwayne, circle to the back just in case.”

He stalked across the road, not sure whether to be relieved or annoyed that she’d worried him. She looked up at his approach. Her smile froze. He heard Fidel shout, though the words were indistinct.

And then he saw the man running towards him. _No, Camille._ And there was a gun in the idiot’s hand. Richard dropped his case and dove towards. He grabbed her and shoved hard, even as a long clap echoed.

A punch hit his shoulder and he stumbled. The door frame caught his fall. Breathless, he looked at Camille.

“You okay?” She nodded, so he glanced over his shoulder to see Fidel take Carrillo down. The action seemed slow, the shadows deeper than a moment ago. His sense of victory was lost to a bone-deep weariness that swept him without warning.

“Richard?”

Camille’s voice sounded tinny. His hearing buzzed. Aftershock, he decided. The gun going off _had_ been very loud. The odd throbbing in his shoulder jumped up a notch. Her hand steadied him, then she gasped and pulled back. He wasn’t overly surprised to see blood on her hand.

“Bother,” he managed as the cold creeping over him turned into a tidal wave, then everything went black.


	4. Chapter 4

There was no air. The band around Camille’s ribs refused to let her breathe. Her brain refused to accept what had happened, but the blood on her hand. Richard’s blood. The world dropped from underneath her. She fell to her knees and turned him over.

His face was grey, his skin slicked with sweat though it was cold to the touch. Shock, she noted dimly. She loosened his tie, undid the top button of his shirt and then, reluctantly, drew the jacket back. Her heart lurched at the blood already soaking the fabric. It was bad. Really, really bad.

“Oh fuck,” Dwayne muttered from behind her. “I’ll call the ambulance.”

“No.” She sat back, pulling detachment up like a shield. “There’s not enough time. I need… Can you handle Carrillo by yourself?” He was the most superior officer. It made sense to send him back.

“Of course, but–”

“Then do that and report to the Commission. I want that bastard off my island before I forget I’m not supposed to kill him.”

“All right.”

“Fidel?” she called out, not taking her eyes off the man before her. Every hitch in his breathing made her heart clench. “Get the Land Rover open, then come help me get him up.”

Before she could do that, she needed him awake. She patted his cheek. “Richard? Richard.” A soft groan escaped him. “Don’t give me that,” she snapped. “Open your damn eyes.”

“Nice… bedside… manner.” His eyelids fluttered, but he came to. “Camille?”

Her hands fisted, holding onto her sanity. “It’s not pretty,” she told him. “Completely ruined that shirt.”

“Fabulous.”

She shook her head. But at least he was lucid. Pain spasmed across his face and she flinched. “I need you to get up. I can’t lift you.”

“Not sure I can. I can’t feel anything.”

“It’s just shock.” She put a hand to his uninjured shoulder and pulled. He gave a breathless gasp. It hurt her to hear it, but there was no choice. She had to get him to the vehicle. “Fidel?”

“Here.” The other man put an arm around Richard’s waist and together they got him up. He wavered and his grip on her forearm was painful, but she didn’t pull away. Fidel threw her a look.

She ignored it and bundled Richard into the back, pushing him down with a little more force than necessary. Grabbing the first aid kit, she tore it open. There wasn’t anything that would come close to stopping the bleeding, but she had to do something. The wad of gauze would have to do.

“Press on hard and don’t let up,” she ordered Fidel. She met his eyes. “And yes, it’s going to hurt.”

The younger man gulped. “O…kay.”

Camille felt for him, but there was only one alternative. That wasn’t about to happen. She squatted in the space between the seats and put a hand to Richard’s cheek. “You hang on,” she murmured and felt the first sting of tears. “ _Ne me quitte pas._

“In English?”

She gave him a small smile. “Don’t die.”

He frowned. “Really?”

“Paraphrased.”

His soft laugh turned into wrenching cough. She scrambled into the driver’s seat and started the engine, jammed her foot down. The Land Rover jumped into motion.

Camille knew the roads well and managed to avoid most of the pot holes. Not all were possible though, and each jolt brought an agonised groan from the back seat. Each spiked her heart and threatened the calm she forced on herself. She gripped the steering wheel tightly – she would not lose her composure while he needed her to stay focused.

“Fidel?”

“He’s still losing blood.”

She nodded, unsurprised. “Keep the pressure on. We’re nearly there.”

“I’ll ring and tell them what to expect.”

A bullet to the back, exit wound to the front, somehow missing bones and lung but there his luck had run out. It had definitely nicked an artery. Every beat of his heart was pushing more blood from his body. She swallowed dryly.

“Richard?”

“Still here.” His voice was weak, thin. “Odd to feel so cold.”

Her gut twisted. They were so close. Would it be enough, though? It had to be. He couldn’t die, not now. Guilt spiked sharply. This was all her fault – if she’d told him the truth sooner, he might not have gotten shot.

And he’d taken that bullet for her.

The tyres screeched a protest as she yanked the Land Rover to a stop, Camille out almost before the vehicle had stopped rolling. A doctor joined her and she repeated what she knew, the words turning cold and hopeless when she saw the spread of red over his shirt. She, the doctor and Fidel got Richard onto the gurney. She grabbed his hand, but there was no response.

“We’ll do what we can,” the doctor told her. A nurse slapped an oxygen mask over lips turned blue. “He’s in safe hands.”

Camille watched them go. There was just nothing inside her; no anger, no fear, no feeling whatsoever. She was hollowed out and empty. A hand grasped her shoulder and she couldn’t feel the warmth of Fidel’s touch.

“He’ll be okay. He’s too stubborn to be otherwise.”

His attempt at humour washed over, leaving her untouched. She turned away, sure that there was something she needed to do, but with no idea what. A tremor racked her.

“Get in the car,” Fidel said then. “I’ll drive you to your mum’s.”

“What?”

Sympathy crinkled his eyes. “You didn’t hear a word I just said.”

“To get in the car?”

“You’re in shock and I think in need of a very stiff drink.” He guided her towards the car. “Come on. It’s going to be all right, Camille. Just you wait and see.”

Sat in the passenger seat, she watched the hospital dwindle in the wing mirror and hoped that Fidel was right. She’d no idea how she would cope if he wasn’t. No idea what she’d do if she lost him now.


	5. Chapter 5

Camille sat in the dark, listening to the buzz of people enjoying themselves. The plate of food her mother had brought was untouched. She couldn’t eat. Worry twisted her stomach, the barbeque smell roiling through her. She pushed up and crossed to the rail. Leant on it and stared out to where the dark ocean met the blacker sky.

Her hair, still damp from the shower, lay heavy on her neck. She rubbed at the tension there. Three hours with no news. Of course, she could ring them, if she wasn’t afraid of the reply.

“Camille?” Her mother came onto the balcony. “You should eat.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I feel sick.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Yes, it is.” She turned back. “I should have told him the truth. I should have trusted him. Now he’s… and I can’t.” A hiccup loosened something deep and dark; a fear she had kept buried up to now. “What do I do if he dies?”

Her mother said nothing. Just opened her arms and Camille flung herself into the hug, the emptiness flooding full and spilling out. She sobbed, guilt and the terror of losing him too close to ignore.

“Ah, darling, you really do love him, don’t you?”

She does. No idea when or how it happened, but she had fallen for him. In spite of his awkward Englishness, impossible arrogance and general rudeness. Or maybe because of those things. She couldn’t say. It just was.

Pity it didn’t go both ways.

“It doesn’t matter.” She sat back and accepted the handkerchief. “He doesn’t love me.”

Her mother arched an eyebrow. “Whatever makes you think that?”

“Because it’s true?”

“He took a bullet for you,” Catherine pointed out, as if Camille could forget that. “I think that says something.”

“He left.”

“And he came back. Have you never wondered why?”

Of course she had. She’d just not thought it was anything to do with her. “He had to.”

“No, darling, he came back because there was something to come back for. Mark my words – that man is in love with you. He’s terrible at showing it and might not even realise, but he is.”

Camille picked up her glass. It wasn’t wine but tequila. Eating had been one thing, getting stupidly drunk was another entirely. It was also probably the only way she would sleep tonight.

“I wish I could be so sure.”

“Trust me. And trust the doctors. He’ll be fine. Just you wait and see.”

The waiting was killing her. She sighed and drained the glass dry. The buzzing numbness was better than the sharp-edged pain in her heart. The world wobbled when she stood.

“I’m going to bed,” she announced. “If they ring…”

“I’ll wake you. I promise.”

Camille dredged up a smile. “Thanks. Night.”

“Night, darling.”

* * * * *

Morning dawned clear and far too bright. Camille groaned and pulled her sheet higher. Pain stabbed her head regardless. Oh, she’d drunk way too much last night and… she sat up straight as the rest of the evening slammed into her.

Richard.

Scrambling from the bed, she located clothes and pulled them on. She dashed to the bathroom. Her reflection looked like a ghost, only with dark circles under the eyes. She washed her hands and splashed cold water on her face, then ran downstairs.

“Steady on!” Her mother said, catching her head-long race to the Land Rover. “I just got off the telephone. He came through surgery fine, just like I said he would.”

Camille stopped. “And?”

“And he’s already complaining about the tea. Weak as a kitten and he’ll need therapy on that shoulder. But he’s fine.”

Relief bowled her over. She sat down hard on a chair. “He’s awake?”

“Visiting isn’t until later but I spoke to the nurse. She can let you have fifteen minutes.”

“Now?”

“Isn’t that when you want?”

More than anything. “Yes.”

“Then off you go.”

Camille didn’t need telling twice. She got up and rushed to the door. Her blood alcohol level was likely too high, but she didn’t care. So what if she ended up in trouble? He was worth it. And she really needed to see him.

As she walked at a brisk pace through the white corridors, al she could think of was she was thankful that her mother had spare clothing. The dress was an old one, but at least it wasn’t covered in blood.

She stopped outside the door the nurse had directed her to. Her palms were sweaty, her heart beating hard. She managed a huff at her nervousness. But it took two deep breaths before she worked up to opening the door.

Richard was propped on a mass of pillows, his skin almost as white as the crisp cotton sheet beneath him. A monitor measured his heart-rate. A thin tube curled around his bare arm and into the shunt at his wrist. She could see the edge of the bandage around his shoulder peeking out from the blue of his hospital gown.

Fighting sudden tears, she made her way to the bed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest with a relief that cut so deep it stole her breath. Her fingers shook as she touched his hand, finding his skin warm and dry.

His eyes opened on a smile. “Hi.”

It was weak and rough, but still the best thing she’d ever heard. “Hi.”

“What did I miss?”

She hitched a shoulder. “All the paperwork?”

He grinned. “That’s a shame. Though as a get-out clause, getting shot isn’t something I recommend.”

Her humour drained. “No. Richard–”

“It wasn’t your fault.” His tone was firm, as was the look in his eyes. “It was down to the drug-crazed lunatic with the gun, remember?”

Camille shook her head. “If I told you the truth–”

“He’d still have come for you. And I still wouldn’t have let him.”

The iron in his voice startled her. Determination carved his features into sharp angles. This was a side of him she’d not seen before. She found herself liking it.

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I’d have taken worse for you.”

He seemed as surprised by that admission as she was hearing it. But he didn’t take it back, just looked towards the window, pink colouring his cheek. Camille smiled, bent down and kissed it. The stubble was rough against her lips, but she didn’t care.

“I won’t say anything to the others,” she promised him. “Nothing needs to leave this room.”

Richard turned his head back. Regarded her for a moment. “Then perhaps I should confess something,” he said. Camille arched her eyebrows and motioned at him to continue. His lips quirked. “I know what you really said in the Land Rover.”

Her lips parted and she stared him, aghast. Even if he was utterly clueless at times, he couldn't mistake that statement in a million years.

“Oh.”

“I didn’t.”

She looked down. His fingers were linked with hers. It was a simple gesture, but it said so much. Blinking back sudden moisture, she smiled at him.

“No.”

“Not again,” he sighed and closed his eyes. Still drained, in more ways than one. “Never again.”

Camille squeezed his fingers, then leant over. She brushed his lips lightly. “Good,” she told him. “Because if you do that to me again, I’ll shoot you myself.”

She left the room to the sound of his soft laugher, her feet nowhere near the ground. Where they went from here, she didn’t know and it didn’t matter. The only thing that did was she’d somehow found a place to land.


End file.
